I threw a football at a guy I had just met, at a freestyle picnic in a sun-swept field. I was savage, that ball freaking soared, and he ran after it backwards, laughing, shouting, arms burst open – joyous, fearless, free – JUMP! He caught the ball, my imagination, my heart, soul, body, me.
My first love was lesbian. She had the sweetest, softest skin and shining eyes that beamed into mine, shimmering peace. She was a great listener, let me hug her, squeeze her, kissy kiss kiss, and brought me to my knees. I begged her to marry me even though I was a kid.
It was true love, it was deep.
Raisin got her Phd in Mathematics at Princeton when I turned 9. She danced for joy on every street, had her kidneys crushed by a car one day, and was put to sleep.
My oldest friend in the world made me laugh the second I saw her on my first day in a new school, Grade 6. Her huge, glassed-in eyes, aquiline nose and deadpan wit tickled my funny bone and soothed my fear. She has been my sister, my muse, my most enduring love story ever since.
When her husband accidentally dropped dead at her feet over two years ago, she slowly peeled herself up off the floor, and seized the moment, as only the most badass truth-seeker would dare. In the face of such a shocking loss, my homegirl stitched her broken heart back together and learned to ever-more deeply care for herself.
I love. A lot of people. My heart is big, the list is long and when I really let it rip – it includes every single one of you. But, here’s the burning question that is forcing my fingers as I sit here at my desk and type: Do I love myself?
Do I love myself?
Why not support Burns the Fire? No amount is too big; no amount is too small.
GOOD NEWS FLASH: Here it comes, when we need it most. My people, it’s all about the hug. Open your arms and please share.
Check out my latest on Huffpo: Goodbye, Vertigo!
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